


Outside

by ViridianPanther



Series: Thirty Days [24]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Rehabilitation, Survival, Synthesis Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViridianPanther/pseuds/ViridianPanther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ME3 post-Synthesis. Former Husk EL/494 remembers his name, and he remembers the man he loved—the man he still loves. He waits outside the hospital for forty minutes, and pleads with Steve to understand that he's really Robert, and he's alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside

FHR-EL/1494—which he still calls himself, even though his memories told him to call himself _Robert_ —has been waiting outside the Royal London Hospital for precisely forty-six minutes and twelve seconds. The hospital VI wouldn't recognise him as a relative, and denied him entry.

_I am Robert Cortez. Am I? I must be._ He saw the name badge on the other man's chest. "CORTEZ, STEVEN. ALLIANCE NAVY."

Read it, stole a glance as he jumped from the bus and bellowed at the traffic to stop, dragging Steve to the side of the road and examining his injuries. Steve had jumped from the bus first, run from Robert just as they were pulling away from the bus stop, gone tumbling into moving traffic.

Only a grazed elbow and scraped knee. Nothing major. Why had he run? Fear? Confusion? Probably. _Steve is my husband—ex-husband. Widower._ That's not something a lot of people can say.

For all the things the synthesis of organic and synthetic life has brought them, it hasn't found a way to fix the feeling of being cold. 1494 has a personality again, an _individual personality_ rather than a train of thought in the Grand Central Station of hivemind intelligence. He has a body, a former Husk body he was downloaded into that has, over time, slowly started tending towards an appearance he recognises as _himself._ His bones are now a virtually indestructible titanium, and he can search the extranet with only his own mind and a small, ear-mounted antenna.

But he wishes it had gone further. He wasn't going to ask for a cure for a broken heart, but some mild biotic ability would be nice. Just so he could warm up cold coffee, and cool down warm beer without having to put some credits in the meter.

_I am Robert Cortez. Steve Cortez was my husband._

"Steve," he calls, following the slender figure, striding quickly from the hospital door with a dressing on the wound and heading to cross the street to the Underground station.

No response. He _must_ have heard him.

_"Steve!"_

He stops, but doesn't look back, as if he's averting his eyes. "Stop following me."

"Steve, it's me," 1494 says, sidling deliberately into his line of sight. "It's me, it's… Robert."

Nothing.

"Don't you remember?"

The look on Steve's face is stony, guarded, with hints of hope and disgust in equal measure. "Who are you?"

"I'm… I'm Robert Cortez. I was… I'm your husband."

A twist of his lips and a gentle squint of his eyes. Confused. It's the same look he had when he was tinkering with a bit of equipment, the look that Robert secretly enjoyed although he'd never tell Steve that.

"How do you know my husband's name?" he demands.

"How do you think?"

"This is sick," Steve says, pushing past and heading for the Underground station. "I haven't got time for this, I've already missed my flight back to Vancouver because of you—"

1494 thinks quickly. Checks the extranet. _BA-4586 LHR-YVR dep. 15:10, delayed 00:45._

"The next flight from Heathrow isn't until ten past three, and it's forty-five minutes late," he calls, giving chase and managing to grab on to his arm.

"Get your hands off me—"

_"Steve,"_ Robert pleads, his voice still a little shaky but beginning to regain touches of his old accent— _his_ voice. "I'm Robert. I _am._ Trust me."

"I don't know who you are, but—"

_"Gagarin Café."_

Steve freezes at the sound of that old name. The cafeteria on Arcturus Station where they'd had their first _proper_ date.

"I know you because I remember," Robert says, slowly. "I remember how we got coffee at the café on Arcturus Station. You had it white with sugar, I had mine black. I made that… shitty, _shitty_ old joke about taking my coffee like my men, and you laughed."

Steve blinks, once, his jaw slacking ever so slightly in shock.

"Afterwards we just sat in the corridor, watched while the ships went past without the audio… then you disappeared for a few minutes. You came back with a rose, a red rose, god knows where you got it from… and you told me I was the most beautiful man you'd ever seen and you thought you were in love with me."

A glint appears at the corner of Steve's eye, blossoms into a tear, slides down the plane of his cheek. "How…?"

"And we got married," Robert continues, "we ran away to Ferris Fields, started a new life… next thing I knew I was surrounded by giant bugs then disintegrating in a vat, then I woke up here, and for _god's sake_ , Steve, it's me, and I love you and I'm so, so sorry, and—"

"Excuse me."

Steve turns, and hurriedly steps out of the way of a large-looking older man with a season ticket lit up on his omni-tool. They'd been having an argument in front of the ticket barriers.

"God," he whispers, lifting a hand to FHR-EL/1494's face—Robert's face—without even realising he's doing it. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Robert whispers softly. "I just… I was being turned into gloop one second, then I woke up in Bethnal Green as a husk."

"But you're…"

"I am. I'm still _me,_ I still… I still love you."

Steve's eyes squeeze shut, he sucks in a breath, tears fall from his eyes, and he presses his lips to Robert's forehead.

"I'm… I love you too. Still." He pulls back for a moment, takes Robert's hands, feels around his palms and Robert can sense the conflict in his mind, the confusion, the shock, the joy, the latent pain, the anger.

"Long time."

"Yeah." Steve looks to the side for a moment, sees people filing into the station, a couple of disapproving glances. There are no two ways about it: ex-husks are ugly, many people are frightened by them.

"Come with me," Steve says, grasping Robert's left hand in his right. "I'm going to the airport, we've got some time. We'll work this out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He pays for two single tickets to Heathrow on his omni-tool and Robert leads him down to the platform. "There's a café in the terminal that re-opened last week. We can talk there."

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, fine, I'm fine," Steve says, although the tears are still streaming down his face as a train comes squealing into the platform and the doors clatter open.

"Come here." Robert ignores the dirty look from the man sat opposite as he wipes away Steve's tears with his sleeve, kisses him on the lips, sits next to him on the train, their thighs close, their fingers interlaced.

_"This train is for Heathrow Terminal Four. Calling at Liverpool Street, Farringdon, Tottenham Court Road, Bond Street, Paddington, Wormwood Scrubs, Ealing Broadway, Heathrow Central and Heathrow Terminal Four."_

Robert finds himself leaning into Steve's chest and closing his eyes. He even still _smells_ the same.

"I missed you," he whispers.

"So did I," Steve mumbles, kissing his head and still shedding tears. "You're so beautiful."

_"Stand clear of the doors, please."_

Robert inhales his breath and tightens his grip on Steve's hand.

_I am Robert Andreas Cortez, Alliance Navy. Steve Cortez is my husband, and I'm happy to be alive._


End file.
